AN: NONONONONO! I made my promise, and I fucking kept it! My internet went down the son of a cunt! This doesn't count. I'm the author here, fuck what the site depicts! This chapter was posted on Friday god dammit!
"Spend less time with your weapons, and instead keep your mind sharp; for a blade can always be recovered…" – My boxing instructor
Several days later…
'Attractive…'
Was the one, sarcastic thought that passed through his cranium as he eyed the three heads that had been impaled on pikes and left to rot in the sun. He spotted the two guards holding down the entrance to Crow's Perch, and smirked at them knowingly. 'Is it worth it? Sniffing that stench for days, just to look menacing?' He asked gleefully.
Tug snorted viciously and shook his head, his statement on the question adamantly asserted.
Riding up to the two guards, he stopped roughly ten paces away as they held up their hands in warning. "What business have ya!" Was the gruff shout that met the Witcher.
Valens peeled off his leather riding gloves and leaned forwards over Tug's neck. "I am with Geralt of Rivia, I understand that we have business with the Bloody Baron." He watched as the two guards exchanged a look with each other before the one whom had spoken previously nodded, and lowered his bleak, iron spear. "Aye, the White Witcher rode in on yesterday's morn. Do ye have proof?"
Valens shrugged, "I'm a Witcher as well." He replied curtly.
He could see the man frown as he leaned forwards and peered at Valens for a few seconds before pulling back, his cracked lips pursed as he did so. "So ye are. Okay Witcher, but we'll be keepin' an eye on ya!"
Instead of replying, the Black Witcher merely urged Tug forwards; and upon levelling with the guards, he grinned at them both. "When it comes to a monster like me, you should keep both of your fucking eyes open." He snarled playfully, flashing the men-at-arms his golden gaze. The younger of the two shivered as he gripped his weapon even tighter, while the older man merely snorted in response. His courage served for naught however; as Valens had easily plucked out the scent of fear the man was radiating… amongst the oh so pleasant traces of alcohol and refuse of course.
Trekking through the relatively small village made of peasants and common artisans, he finally happened upon the bridge walkway over a moat of stinking, algae infested water that led to the Red Keep, Fort Strenger.
He passed the guards that were keeping watch with a similar conversation and eventually found himself dismounted and escorted through the big, cast iron double doors of the main keep. He frowned at the colouration of the interior, the red clay bricks seemed to reflect an almost hazy, auburn light from the nearby sconces. It was irritating to look at.
He was directed to another set of, albeit smaller and less reinforced, double doors. Nodding to the soldier who had brought him to his destination, Valens pushed against the heavy oak doors and watched they swung open. They creaked a little, but not too much. He gave a very minuscule nod at this, 'Less chance of someone being able to sneak in.' He summarised.
"The Dragon Witcher, am I right?" A boisterous, yet contradictingly stoic voice bellowed from the other end of the room. Valens snapped his eyes to the man who had spoken, taking in the room within a split second as he did.
'Fireplace to my left; can be blown up with Aard if distraction is required. A lot of furniture here, lots of potential cover and weapons. Windows lining the back wall, drops off to the moat; easily survivable. Baron currently stood behind his desk, back right corner, thus reducing mobility. Guards positioned outside, with mail and shoddy spears... Situation is completely in my favour.'
He took in the Baron as he stepped through the room; the man wasn't exactly the most combat ready looking individual; although he did possess a huge set of ox-like shoulders and tree-stump thick arms. Valens wouldn't have been surprised if the man had managed to take over the castle with his giant bear paws alone. His attire consisted of an untied, long red doublet worn over a steel breastplate. His thick legs were clad in similar looking plate armour. The armour itself was scarred to oblivion, scratches and nicks covered every face of the steel; besides the damage, it was surprisingly well cared for. 'This one likes to fight… that's for damned sure.' He thought to himself as he held out a hand.
"Correct, Baron Strenger." He stated as the other man dwarfed his hand with his giant mitts. Valens was sure that if he had been human, his arm would have been shaken out of its blasted socket.
The bearded, leathery face of the Red Baron regarded him thoughtfully before he crossed his arms over his beer gut and grunted softly, "Yer white-haired friend passed through a couple of days ago." He offered guardedly.
Valens perked up at this, "Your guards had said he had passed through yesterday morning?"
It was the Baron's turn to be surprised, "Eh? I saw him once, and that was four days ago. He must've been here on business that didn't concern me."
Valens grunted in assent, if the man didn't know then that was that. "When he did pass through, did he inquire about another white haired individual? A girl named Cirilla?" He asked, slightly tense for a reply.
The Baron seemed to lose his rigidity at this as he sat down and sighed, "Right, you know er' then?" Valens nodded. Strenger nodded as he took a swig of the ale that was sitting on the desk beside him, "Aye, he did. She was here, in fact." He paused to pull out a bottle of what looked to be dwarven vodka before he poured it out into two cups. "I'd be right in thinkin' that you want to hear about er' as well, wouldn't I?" He asked, pushing one of the cups towards Valens.
The Dragon Witcher picked up the offering by the bottom of the cup and raised it in unison with the Baron before slamming the thing down with barely a wince. "That, as well as where my partner has gone…" He informed, as if he hadn't just downed the most bland and venomous drinks of all time.
The Baron nodded, as if expecting this and refilled their cups. "Then I'll tell you the same thing I've told him. Ciri came to us, out of the swamps." He paused to see if Valens was listening and almost flinched to see that the Witcher with the gleaming golden eyes was staring at him intently, muscles coiled and eyes narrowed with resolve. He continued, a little nervously now. "She'd been stumbling through the swamps and 'appened cross a young girl, Gretka. Kind lass offered to take the lil' girl home, and then stumbled into a damned Werewolf attacking one of my men. Beast's been prowlin' round these parts for a while now…" He mumbled absently, taking another look at the still glaring Witcher, he straightened up. "She killed it, but was wounded in the process; came out of the swamps stinking, bloodied and tired." The Baron then stopped.
Valens felt his anger spike as the man looked at him expectantly "Is that it? What of her whereabouts now? " He almost growled at the Baron.
The Baron merely chuckled, yet it was without mirth. "Geralt is out in the wilds right about now, lookin' for me wife and daughter who have gone missing; in exchange for the rest of the information." He stood and moved to one of the windows. "Last I heard he went looking for the Peller about a talisman my wife had with her." He then turned back to Valens, who was watching him silently. "I want them back, Dragonlord. Two Witchers is greater than one, find my family, and I'll reward you with riches, and information." He offered quietly.
Valens didn't respond immediately. Instead, he paced back towards the hearth and grabbed a bottle of brandy that was sitting by the set of high quality chairs that had obviously been raided from neighbouring castles. Turning back to the Baron, he shrugged. "Unless I torture the information from you, I don't have a choice." He paused as the Bloody Baron stiffened slightly, "Very well. I accept, I would instruct your guards to let us pass at a moment's notice. If Geralt hasn't brought word yet, that means something has happened that fits very well within our line of work." He hinted strongly.
The Baron frowned at him before realisation dawned, he turned back to stare unseeingly out of his large windows as Valens departed silently. "You make a strong point… Black Witcher."
Journeying to the very edge of the swamplands, Valens took stock of his situation. Geralt's position was unknown; he had no idea where to start, as well as how much of the line the White Wolf had managed to reel in, so to speak. Would it be better to wait for the other Witcher, or would he be better off beginning his own investigation and hoping to meet Geralt down the road? That was the question he needed answered.
With a weary sigh, he decided that there was one asset he could call upon that would give him some information; or at least he hoped it would. Scavenging the materials he needed to make a small fire, the Witcher conjured a flame on his finger and flicked it into the fire, before withdrawing a wad of dried up Wolfsbane. He waited for the flames to reach its zenith, before he tossed a few flowers into the fire. Instantly, the fire burst upwards with a hot surge of white flames, before the strange smell of lavender and cooked pork filled the air. Taking a seat by Tug, who stopped his munching on the local fauna to rub his face against Valens' fondly, the raven haired Wiedźmin sighed once more.
'What is it my almighty, monster slaying, mutant Master? What can this divine steed do to cure you of your ailments?' Was the question asked with a comical shake of Tug's mane.
Valens grabbed at Tug's face lazily in response, raising a brow in surprise as his playful horse gave no resistance. It seemed his faithful companion was acutely aware of his lethargic mood. Idly toying with Tug's lips and nose before shifting his obnoxious ministrations into a gentle massage, to which the smoke coloured horse seemed to greatly appreciate, Valens shrugged. 'Just sick and tired of all this running around, not knowing what the hell is going on or where the fuck to go… If I could just; snap my fingers and will Ciri in front of me… that would be just grand.' Was his tired response.
His horse pulled away from his attentions and bumped noses softly, 'That's wishful and dangerous thinking. Those thoughts lead to insanity in our line of work, and you know that you moron. Stop it.' Valens brow rose again at the stern command, and only received another 'boop' on the nose for his troubles. Slowly grinning at the individual that he would honestly hurl himself off of mountains for, something that would be seen as absolutely ludicrous to almost every single human on the earth, he grabbed Tug's nose and kissed it roughly before standing and swinging himself onto his mount's back.
'You're right. Thanks buddy, it seems Niellan hasn't caught the scent yet, let's go find him.'
Tug snorted imperiously. 'Of course I'm right. If I could talk, I'd be the world's most respected scholar.' His statement was supported by an adamant stamp of a hoof. He then grumbled softly, 'And uhh… you sure about that?' The horse added shrewdly.
Valens looked up as a familiar scent pervaded his nostrils, a dozen or so seconds later, the Beast of Heatherton emerged from the bushes, wrinkling his nose at the scent of Niellansbane; Atlas, the newly named and rapidly growing Velenerian War hound trailing alongside him. The pup that had once been no longer than his forearm and no taller than the middle of his shin was now somehow knee-high in height and had grown stockier. It retained the wide, rippled muscle of traditional war hounds, yet the fur around its neck had thickened greatly, its tail growing longer and bushier. Its head, now that it had developed properly, was additionally angular and taut than the floppy lipped, floppy eared hounds that he was used to. Atlas… looked like a typically terrifying cross between an agile Skellige mountain wolf, and the hulking masses of muscle that were used in war.
Upon seeing him, the now sheep-dog sized canine almost tackled the Witcher off of Tug's back in a show of affection, showering him with licks and nippy bites. Unable to restrain the chuckle from his lips, the Dragon Witcher head-butted the over enthusiastic dog playfully before throwing him over his shoulder; only to duck in surprise as the beast snarled joyfully at the challenge and instantly recovered for a second, kiss-happy charge.
Looking up at Niellan, who was leaning on his longbow with a grin, Valens pointed to the dog that was now challenging Tug to a duel of eternal honour with what could only be described as a butt-wiggle. "What the… what?"
Niellan's grin widened. "I told you not to mess around with Velenerian War hounds. Granted, that mutt is growing fast… think it's cos' of me?" He asked, rubbing the stubble that he hadn't had time to shave off. Valens sneered at this, he liked his stubble; the stupid were-hunter didn't know what he was missing.
He then shrugged. "It could be because he's part of your pack. Geralt would know more, but I recall that the more beta's or subordinates an Alpha possesses, the stronger he gets. Atlas could be feeding off of your strength to reach his full potential quicker." He then shrugged again, "But of course it's never that simple… I'm probably completely wrong." He muttered peevishly.
Niellan barked out a laugh and slung his longbow over his shoulder. "No I think you may be right, I've been feeling sort of tuckered out recently. Since I was bitten, fatigue has become non-existent." He explained with a short gesture.
Valens nodded as he leaned back in his saddle and reached for some water, "Watch'ya find so far? Four days out in the woods give you anything to report?" He asked curiously. It had been a recent development, Niellan in his primal form could navigate the forest and swamps with as much finesse as Valens could, perhaps even better. The Witcher was still more experienced than the hunter in the ways of tracking and various other things by miles; but Niellan's unending stamina, his supernatural senses and near limitless ranging abilities was infinitely more useful than just holding his Master's hand. It was like a second set of eyes and ears to aid him.
At Valens' behest, the Werewolf nodded and pulled out a scrolled patch of parchment before handing it to his Master. "You were right; the woods were like archives of information. I found the White Wolf almost a day after we parted. He gave me this, which was supposed to go to you at the end of my recon." He informed, crossing his arms over his chest.
Valens didn't read the missive, if it could wait three days, then it could wait a few more hours. "Anything else?" He probed lightly.
Niellan uncrossed his arms and shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah err… We've got some were-troubles around here." At Valens' gesture, he continued. "A bunch of packless beta's running around, they haven't made much noise, but that's due to the fact that they're tearing each other to pieces."
Valens grunted apathetically at this, "None of our concern right now then."
Niellan looked at him for a moment before shrugging in agreement, "I guess so, and they're not lucid like me I figure. It would be better if they killed each other off huh?"
Valens nodded. "They're nothing like you. Either you're special, or it's an Alpha thing. But they've seemed to turn savage. What else?"
Niellan didn't hesitate this time. "I sniffed down their leader, cut down by blade. However, I don't really think he was an Alpha truth be told; he seemed so much less impressive than the Alpha we faced. Or even me, if you would excuse the self-inflation."
Valens once again nodded, "Trust me, there aren't many Alpha's at all. They are rare, extremely dangerous, and ridiculously hard to kill. If it doesn't look like the maddest son'f a bitch you've ever seen, it likely isn't an Alpha." He stated resolutely.
Niellan nodded in agreement, 'That… 'creature' was pathetic. To be perfectly honest.' He shrugged on continued on with his debrief. "The swamps are absolutely filled with all sorts of nasty goobers… Atlas actually saved my life from a couple of blue skinned… water zombies of some sort... Grabbed its leg and pulled it out of the water before it could grab and drag me under." He explained, ruffling Atlas' brown head as he did so.
Valens chuckled dourly at this, "Yeah, Drowners they're called. Fucking nightmares, if you see one, there's bound to be a dozen more."
Niellan laughed ruefully, "Yup, ain't that the truth… Regardless, after that close call; I knew to stay on my toes. Lucky I did for I stumbled across some sort of community, three huts. The smell was disgusting; Wolfsbane and all sorts of stuff that I guess keeps individuals away lined the place like a damned barrier." Upon mentioning this, Niellan apparently decided that the odour of Wolfsbane was too great and hastily stamped out the fire. "I stalked the woods for a while after that; found Geralt again last night by some Peddler's cabin, didn't bother him. Though I think he knew I was there. Nothing else remarkable." He finished briskly.
Valens twirled a lock from Tug's mane on his finger idly as he mulled over the information. "Werewolf, swamps, supernaturally guarded huts in the swamp… aaaand Geralt. I think I'm even more confused than I was without the information." He stated grumpily, unravelling Geralt's missive as he did so.
Niellan chuckled amusedly, "Well. At least we have a solid from your friend."
Valens hummed in assent as he skimmed over Geralt's message.
'Valens,
There's something foul afoot here. Either the Baron's stuck his fingers where he shouldn't have; or he's the cause of all of this somehow. Found blood in his room, wine, all the things that lead to a drunken fight, presumably; he beat his wife. However, besides the obvious reason for the wife and daughter's disappearance, something supernatural is also prowling around. Meet me back at the Red Keep the moment you receive this letter.
Geralt,'
Valens frowned lugubriously at the letter in his hands, before it was set alight while still in his fingers, he watched as it burned to a crisp; the ashes drifting out of his hands in the breeze. He ignored Niellan's admiring whistle as he nudged Tug with his toe. "We ride to Crow's Perch…" He paused and looked around curiously, "Where's your horse?"
Niellan gulped.
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
"…"
"Do you know the shit I had to trudge through to get that fucking thing?" The Witcher shouted, irritation evident in his voice.
"…"
"…"
"The drown-"
"Shut up." Valens pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to calm himself, lest he sent the damn Werewolf through a tree. "You." He pointed at the abashed looking hunter, "Keep. Up."
He then nudged Tug once more and took off at a loose canter towards the keep, he noticed, with slight surprise that the Werewolf was actually keeping up. He himself would be able to do so easily, but not for the period of time it would take to travel all the way back to the Red Keep. He could reach his steady state at an intense run.
However Niellan was sprinting…
Roughly four hours along…
Valens came to a halt as he decided not to canter straight over the rickety wooden bridge that seemed to be the apex of Velenerian engineering. 'Seriously, the fuck is with these half-arsed bridges?'
He made to comment when a scent, a very familiar one wafted by his keen nose. Snapping his head up, he caught sight of a wispy trail of black smoke that slowly rose from behind the keep, where the assets like the stables and smiths were kept. Frowning, he nodded and raised a hand to silence Niellan's comment. "Let's move." He ordered, and with a twitch of his knee, Tug simply disappeared.
Niellan recoiled slightly as what felt like a damned sonic boom hit smacked him flush on the face. Opening his eyes after what could have only been a few seconds, he barely saw the Smoke-trotter's tail disappear around the bend of the large castle… that was easily hundreds of feet away. Jaw slightly agape, the hunter made to catch up. 'What in oblivion is that thing?'
Rounding the corner, the Lycan quickly deduced four things…
One. The pissing barn was on fire.
Two. The mighty, Bloody Baron; was getting his ass handed to him by Geralt.
Three. Some guy was running… well, floating toward him from his left side.
Four. Valens… had just run straight into the burning building.
Niellan blinked. "I'm so confused right now…"
Shaking his aching head clear of thought, he turned to his first priority. He turned to face at the man who didn't seem to be using his legs, yet still managed to somehow retain forward movement; unslinging his longbow, he held up a gloved hand. "Err, s'cuse me sir? Can you stop that weird stuff?"
In response, the figure turned ethereal, his form becoming a wispy blue haze as he continued to move forward.
Niellan cocked his head to the side… "Okay then…I guess, you just do you…" Nocking an arrow with a practised fastidiousness, the Hunter drew, sighted, slowly let half of his breath filter out before…
'SNAP!'
The limbs of his bow sprang back and with a sharp smacking noise, jerked the string taut, sending the long, barb-tipped arrow hurtling forth singing a hollow song of demise. The impact would have been meaty and disgusting…. Would have been…
The arrow did absolutely nothing as it passed through the figure with barely any noticeable resistance. Niellan frowned as the creature suddenly phased up another thirty feet towards him. It was only fifty feet away now. Blowing a quiet raspberry at the situation, he dug around in the quiver at the back of his hip for another arrow. "Maybeee… this one?" He asked curiously as he pulled out what looked to be the exact same type of barbed arrow, yet the tip of this one gleamed in the early moonlight…
A silver arrow.
Inhaling deeply, he slipped the bowstring into the groove, nocked, drew, and once again while leaking out breath; he let loose.
He watched with squinted eyes as the creature made no move to avoid the arrow, which he didn't think it could have even if it wanted to. Dodging an arrow shot by a ninety-pound yew longbow at fifty feet? Niellan scoffed. 'Nuh uh.'
This time… the shot wasn't even close to disappointing. The silver-dipped arrow carved its way into, and through the ghost-like man's face, he watched with a sick sense of satisfaction as the man's entire skull caved in on itself; his upper torso thrown backwards with the sheer force of the impact before its spine seemed to snap in on itself with the pressure. The creature bent backwards into its legs, and with a horrible sounding shriek, it suddenly dispersed in a shroud of blue flame.
Niellan stared at the space where the ghost had been for several seconds, before shrugging. "Can't say much to be perfectly honest… I'mma Werewolf…" He said cheerfully to no one.
Valens growled at the sight of the burning barn, and the alcohol that was practically radiating from the man who was currently being beaten into the dirt. He was surprised Geralt was winning so handily, the Baron didn't exactly seem like the type to keel over too easily. Granted… he was drunk out of his mind.
He made to intervene when he suddenly heard a scream of distress emanate from the inferno that was the barn. Shifting his gaze towards it, he caught sight of a silhouette, dark against the light of the fire; clutching at one of the upper windows of the farm building. The figure managed to peel himself towards the space, and as if lady fate had decided at that moment that she hadn't had her fun yet, the form suddenly slumped over and passed out against the opening, one arm hanging limply in the air, out of the window.
Snorting in derision, the Black Witcher leapt from Tug's back, and began to sprint towards the barn.
'Oh yeah, Geralt gets to fight the half-blind, drunk as shit old man. While I get to run my arse into a flaming building filled with hay to save some peasant. Brilliant. Who came up with that hilarious yarn?' He grumbled irritantly as he broke through the first set of flames and into the heart of the barn.
Whipping around rapidly, he saw that the barn's construction was a simple one. A large space for livestock down below, and two upper decks built on the left and right side, with ladders to reach them. He found the ladder on the left side closest to him, where the figure was; the other was blocked by flaming debris. He didn't bother covering his mouth or nose, as long as he didn't stay for supper; his mutated system would be able to withstand the fumes. Moving toward it briskly, he flicked his left hand out with a flourish and summoned the Dragon's Reach. He barely had one armoured hand on the charred wood, before the entire structure above him collapsed on itself with a roaring rush of flames and debris. Shouting out in surprise, he rolled backwards and landed in a heap of ash. Righting himself while angrily waving away the tiny specks of cinder that was currently watering up his nose and eyes. He looked up to survey his options…. just when the second stroke of downright, shite luck decided to play its hand.
He heard it before he saw it. The miniscule snap of wood that had caught aflame. Looking up at where the, who he could now make out to be a, young stableboy lay unconscious; he spotted the splintered, fiery, tree thick beam that was seconds away from falling and splattering the teenager's brain matter across the burning wood of the second floor.
Instinct overpowering all action, the Dragon Witcher slung the Dane axe from his back, and with the same motion drove it deep into the edge of the platform, using his axe as leverage to haul himself up to the platform; where unfortunately the hay was being kept, away from the livestock. 'Great.'
The time allotted for his snarky attitude was up, however, as the support beam finally gave way with a loud splintering, cracking sound. Galvanised into action, Valens hurled himself forwards desperately. Yet he could see that while he could have reached the boy, he would never have been able to move him out of the way or stop the beam in time.
Mindlessly, the Witcher threw his axe in an overhead hurtle; his body following behind at a slower pace. The heavy axe-head, with a series of loud, whooshing spins; slammed deep into the large support beam. The force behind it was powerful, enough to cut down a small tree perhaps. But this… this was a crudely thick beam of hickory, blackened and charred by flame; easily weighing over two thirds of a ton.
The impact only managed to divert its course a fraction, but it was enough. Enough for it slam through a railing, slowing its momentum, allowing Valens to take action instead of completely passing by the flimsy wooden railing and crushing the boy's skull like an overripe watermelon.
Throwing himself under the wooden beam, he span on his knees and held up his arms. He felt a shudder of pain course through his shoulders and head as the beam slammed heavily against his braced forearms before continuing down slightly and bonking him harshly on the top of his skull. Groaning in pain and exertion, the Witcher roared as he forced his legs under him and lifted the huge beam up over his head, before grabbing hold of the handle of his axe and pushing it to the side, allowing it to topple over the edge and spear into the floor below; his axe popping free as he held it firm.
His victory over the inanimate object was short lived however; as a roof without support… rapidly loses its status as a roof. Eyes widening at the revelation, Valens pivoted on the ball of his foot as the first part of the heavy, boarded barn roof came crashing through the second floor behind him; nearly setting the Witcher off balance. Roughly grabbing the stableboy's belt, Valens hurled him out the window before following suit in a similar fashion; unfortunately, he hadn't gotten away as cleanly as a large splinter of burning wood decided that his shoulder was the perfect place to embed itself. Grimacing in pain, still in rapid descent, exposé dawned on the Witcher that the boy was falling as well… and head first at that.
Clawing in mid-air at the boy, Valens desperately tried to reach him but found that he thrown the boy too far, while he had dove out with less gusto. There was only one option available to him. Valens sighed internally, 'It's either this; or his life…'
Conclusion reached, the Witcher twirled the axe in his hand and swung, still in mid-flight, at the young teenager. The back-spike of his war axe punctured through the boy's upper hip like nail through a board, and the Witcher had barely managed to pull him back into his arms before rotating in the air, letting his own back collide harshly with the ground instead of the boy's.
He landed with a heavy 'THUD!' as the air was forcefully pushed from his lungs. He still managed to find a sense of humour however, when the thumb-thick splinter piercing through his right shoulder was ejected out like a rocket; a sick, morbid sense of humour.
Still holding the boy who somehow proceeded to be unconscious, smoke-poisoned, traumatised, half-dead and now impaled by a damned Viking axe, all at once. Valens smacked his head against the cold ground, a deadpan stare directed up at the sky.
'Flawless.'
Was the only, sardonic comment traversing his mind.
AN: Fucking Telstra… fix your damned company you pieces of Neanderthal-shit. Why can't Australia have that awesome internet those cunts in Germany or the States get? Seriously man, we can have snakes and spiders crawling in our assholes every day of the week, why no decent net?
FUCK YOU AXTON! THAT'S WHY!
Also. If you think Valens lifting 1500 pound is a bit out his reach. Think on this. Some dude can deadlift 1400 pounds. He ain't no fekkin mutant. What about this one? A chimpanzee can pull close to 1200 pounds while agitated with ONE ARM. ONE FUCKING ARM MAN! Valens. Is. Not. Some. Damned. Monkey.